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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068335">Got me holding my breath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHolosexualPan/pseuds/thp_cara'>thp_cara (TheHolosexualPan)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hermitcraft RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff, Inspired By Tumblr, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because it's these two what did ya expect, slight crack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:08:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHolosexualPan/pseuds/thp_cara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grian should have probably expected not to be the only one lurking in Impulse's base.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grian/Zedaph (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Got me holding my breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was inspired by a post I saw on Tumblr ^^</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The interior of the first secret base is quiet, the creak of the floor barely even audible as Grian moves around, destroying blocks here and there as silently as possible and placing cobwebs in the corners, making the entirety of it look abandoned, and Grian isn’t really one to pat himself on the back, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> proud of the diversion he’s set up for his diversionary tactics expert, Impulse. He giggles quietly as he breaks apart a flowerpot and moves the flower into his inventory. Of course, all the hints he’s left, odd messages in the public chat of the hermits, little bits of stray wood sticking out of the bottom of Impulse’s pyramid and a few other smaller things, they mean that, probably sooner rather than later, Impulse will discover the abandoned nock Grian has made himself in his home and then the game will begin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile on Grian’s face as he thinks about what sorts of shenanigans he and Impulse could get up to is only tempered by the stickiness of a cobweb that he throws to the floor where the carpet has been ripped up, cringing at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last Grian had checked, Impulse had been down at bedrock level, working on probably another hyper-productive farm that would, hopefully, not have its product pipes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>unfinished pipes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that is, run right above Grian’s living room, because Grian has already collected more melons and pumpkins than one single person could ever need just while working on this place. It had been a surprise, quite scary at the time, when Grian had started working on the wooden structure with Impulse just on the other side of the wall, checking on his main storage area, because items dropping down and flowing into a place that is supposed to remain hidden would scare anyone, Grian reasons, and he grins fondly as his eyes follow the lines of the planked up ceiling until they stop at the exposed redstone of Grian’s own self-made peeping hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the silence breaks as, instead of the rhythmic sound of his own steps or the soft thud of items resting onto the single hopper that cannot even hope to collect all of the resources passing through it, there’s a short, muffled yell, the sound of wood snapping, and then the particularly painful sound of a soft body collapsing onto metal and hard flooring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grian freezes in places, dark eyes wide and shoulders tense, his hands working almost of their own accord, stuffing the bag of cobwebs back into his inventory, considering how likely </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoever</span>
  </em>
  <span> is behind him will recognise him just by the back of his head and the red sweater he is wearing. The chances aren’t low, Grian realises with a grimace and, as soon as his shock releases him, he turns around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There, on top of the hopper, rubbing at the back of his head with a twisted expression of slight pain and eyebrows pinched in confusion, sits Zedaph. There are splinters and floofs of dust caught into his cardigan and, in his hand, there is a shulker box, the lid of which is not properly closed, the green and orange revealing its contents as just what had steadily been filling Grian’s chests this whole time. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then</span>
  </em>
  <span> their eyes meet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grian purses his lips and tilts his head slightly, glancing behind at the wooden wall, trying to listen and decide whether or not Impulse had heard anything, but the sound of rockets or an elytra or hard steps on concrete is missing, so he sighs in relief and turns back to Zedaph, curious as to exactly what reaction he will have once he realises what this place is and what Grian might be doing here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And realise he does, after doing a sweep of the place, eyebrows so high on his forehead that Grian has to wonder if he’s trying to make them leave his face entirely, mouth slightly agape, but things are connecting in his mind because, suddenly, there’s a spark in his eyes as Zedaph looks at Grian again, a smile stretching on his face that Grian recognises, perhaps due to self reflection, as a sign of mischief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zedaph crosses his legs from where he is seated on the edge of the hopper, fiddling his thumbs innocently, though his expression is anything but and, before he can stop himself, Grian says:</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sooo… Come here often?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zedaph hums, tapping at his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, of course! Somebody has to… Ehem, </span>
  <em>
    <span>relieve</span>
  </em>
  <span> Impulse of too many items. Clutter would be bad for his sorting system and all”, he responds, nonchalantly, voice still low, for which Grian is thankful, because though he knows Impulse is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> quite far down, he doesn’t want to risk it. The shulker box makes sense, now, and Grian puts his hands on his hips, laughing nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, of course”, he starts, but he sees the way Zedaph’s smile widens even further, “And I...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grian struggles to find answers to the unasked question that Zedaph’s tone had hinted at, but he pulls his lips into a thin line and just gestures at the secret base. Zedaph cackles and, from the corner of his eyes, Grian notices how he curls in on himself, clutching at his stomach and placing the shulker box next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but I think I know, good sir”, Zedaph says, humour clear in his voice, and Grian shrugs, “Built a base in Impulse’s base, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mischief is back in Zedaph’s eyes when Grian nods, but Grian barely has time to react before Zedaph cups his hands around his mouth and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Impy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Grian knows what Zedaph is thinking. He expects this to become a funny situations that he can bear witness to, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because none of the hermits would get mad about something like this, but this little game that hasn’t quite started yet is making Grian quite a bit more cautious and, in a way</span>
  <em>
    <span>, competitive</span>
  </em>
  <span> than he might usually be, so, before Zedaph’s words can actually call attention to them, there’s a palm pressed to his mouth and a wide-eyed, pouting Grian cornering him into the small area that Grian had hastily put together to stop the pumpkins and melons from piling up on his floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence after, as Grian waits for a response, for movement, for a ding in the chat, a message from Impulse asking if anyone is at his base, is deafening, enough so that Grian can hear the blood rushing in his ears and the way his breaths come slightly faster due to how he is trying to silence them, but he is still looking behind him, even if he can’t see through the wall, obviously, just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zedaph doesn’t move, almost as though he were resigned to his fate, until he licks Grian’s palms and Grian has to stifle a yell as he jumps back, biting into his cheek and tasting the small amount of blood that that results into, rubbing his hand onto the leg of his trousers with an incredulous look on his face. That is, until he looks back at Zedaph. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is laughing so hard that he isn’t even making sounds anymore, just wheezing and wiping at tears of pure, unfiltered mirth that well up in his eyes, his frame shaking with it. It makes Grian himself struggle to hold a smile back, even as the taste of iron still lingers on his tongue, and then more pumpkins and melons land in Zedaph’s lap and he can’t help but join the other in his silent giggling, allowing himself to take a closer step and seal the hole in the ceiling so that no more of the results of Impulse’s farms can rain down on them. The laughter fades out once Grian is done, and he makes to step back, but he looks down at where Zedaph is still seated, half on a wooden ledge, half on the hopper, hands folded in his lap and and his face still caught in a small smile. It makes Grian think, but his brain struggles to get further than, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow, you’re really close now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and they are, enough so that Grian can just about count his eyelashes, so that he can smell the dust and the slight spice of redstone, through which he must have crawled to get here, and the subtle something that is entirely Zedaph. Grian can’t quite make himself step back and out of Zedaph’s space, but Zedaph doesn’t seem to be protesting either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Are you going to call out for Impulse again?”, Grian asks, squinting when Zedaph’s face morphs into an insulted look that just about screams ‘who, </span>
  <em>
    <span>me?’</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “Well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what would you do if that were my plan? You’ve got such a cozy little secret here, but this can’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you’re too smart for that. What’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> base of many given away by little, old me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grian blushes at the last sentence, the compliment as obvious as the challenge in the words, and Zedaph leans </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little bit closer, enough that Grian notices the faint freckles spread over the bridge of his nose. Maybe it’s the proximity or the way they are both whispering, as if this were something more intimate, or the way they are positioned, Grian’s hands twitching at his sides as he fights the urge to lean further down when he sees that little smile sharpen more, but Grian’s heart, suddenly, starts beating much, much harder than before, something akin to adrenaline but not at all that making his skin tingle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, but that would ruin the game, you see”, he explains, and Zedaph sighs, an apologetic sort of look visible in his eyes before he closes them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zedaph tilts his head back and, with purple peeking through half-closed eyelids once more, Zedaph breathes out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, too, is a game, Grian realises, and as soon as Zedaph opens his mouth to, most likely, yell out Impulse’s name until it gives their location away, it’s something that feels like instinct that makes Grian lean in and close the gap, and it shocks them both to the point where Zedaph stiffens before going completely slack and letting Grian step even closer, just about pressing him into the wooden wall behind him, and Grian does, slowly bringing his hands to the wooden ledge to use it as support as the shock fades, allowing him to feel the way soft lips mold to the movements of his own mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, too soon, Grian pulls back. They are staring at each other with mirrored expressions of something softer than surprise, both of their faces red, and Grian can’t deny the way he wants to dive back in, not when there’s a soft look in those purple eyes that Grian has never seen before, and it makes him crave </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. More of what, he isn’t entirely sure, but he has an idea of where to find it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They aren’t kissing, now, but their mouths are close enough that, when Zedaph speaks, their lips brush together, making Grian’s tingle in a pleasant way, a warm, soft exhale making him want to steal another kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… That’s one way to make someone shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he laughs, softly, and it’s such a small, quiet sound, to the point where it almost doesn’t sound like Zedaph at all, and Grian realises he is being </span>
  <em>
    <span>shy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Zedaph, self-proclaimed shameless prankster and a man of all that is bizarre and scienceable, is shy because of a kiss, and Grian doesn’t hold it against him, but it’s… Cute, unbearably so. Grian feels the way his face gets even hotter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh… Still wanna rat me out?”, Grian asks, but Zedaph figures that the question he is really is asking is different, because there’s this shaky sort of little grin, crooked and just a bit unsure, that makes Grian pull back enough to look at him, but then gentle hands move up until they can reach Grian’s face and Zedaph cups his cheeks gently, thumbs tucking stray strands of hair behind Grian’s ears, and it’s Grian’s turn to be a bit more flustered than anticipated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, that depends on whether you could, you know, convince me </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to… Do that”, the sweet gesture seems to have taken all of Zedaph’s courage, however, because Grian can barely even hear his reply, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> see the way Zedaph leans ever so slightly closer, their lips touching again, and that’s enough for Grian to hold his own hands over Zedaph’s on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grian tips his head slightly, moving against Zedaph until their bodies are close enough so that there is no more space between them and, between Grian’s own woolen sweater, Zedaph’s soft cardigan and the warmth of the miniature base still heated by a small fireplace, it’s quite the hot endeavour, but that’s nothing against the way Grian’s blood boils when Zedaph lets out a soft sound against his lips, a shiver wracking through Grian’s body as he tries to push even closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They only part when the need for air overrides the way they are chasing each other’s touches, but when Grian closes his eyes and kisses Zedaph again, the other seems to melt as Grian prods at his lips with an inquisitive tongue, but his mouth opens nonetheless, and somehow, the small change makes everything that much more overwhelming, makes Grian seek out something to hold on to, and he settles a hand on the nape of Zedaph’s neck, tangling his fingers into light blonde hair, while his other hand finds his way to Zedaph’s shoulder instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zedaph leans back and it takes Grian a moment until he can actually make himself open his eyes, but the sight that greets him is of a flushed Zedaph looking at him with warm eyes, his lips swollen and pink and just begging to be kissed again, so Grian does, and they both giggle into each other’s mouths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the day, Grian leads Zedaph to his </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> secret base, both of them holding hands and laughing silently as they hide into the nooks and crannies of Impulse’s base, the owner of said base oblivious to childish game of hide and seek the two are playing with him, and it’s what glee that, amongst many more kisses and gasps, they decide that, perhaps, they should meet up more often, of course, for business purposes, as Grian still wants to keep his witness </span>
  <em>
    <span>quiet</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
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